


She Ain't Born Typical

by margaerytyrell



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 03:19:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margaerytyrell/pseuds/margaerytyrell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“From my boyfriend,” she laughs, running fingers through long, brown hair. Sansa looks dejected for just a moment. The words aren’t what she wants to hear. Not at all. Margaery leans close and hooks a finger under the smaller girl’s chin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Ain't Born Typical

Margaery’s arms wrap on both sides of Sansa’s, hands curling around the other girl’s knuckles to touch the cool metal of her handgun. Strawberry colored hair is tied up in a knot at the back of the smaller girl’s head and it brushes Margaery’s face and traces her small smile. Bullet holes outline the edges of Sansa’s cardboard cutout target, but she has yet to hit the mock-male anywhere vital. 

Still, the fact that she’s willing to fire a pistol at the crude shape of a man is pleasing to say the least. 

“You’re close,” Margaery smiles, pulling Sansa’s arms up just slightly. She closes one eye and narrows the other until the barrel of the gun obstructs the dot marked to be the man’s heart. “Try again.”

“Okay,” Sansa whispers through clenched teeth. Her slim muscles run rigid with focus and her breathing shakes, but she pulls the trigger again and lets the rebound knock her back into her mentor as the bullet sinks through the cutout’s throat. It’s off the mark, but it’s lethal, and Sansa let’s her arms sink to her sides. 

“That killed him,” she chuckles, but Sansa frowns and a sigh seems to deflate her confidence. 

“It didn’t kill him right away,” she mumbles with eyes glued to the fake man’s neck wound. Margaery grins.

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with letting it take a while,” she muses, but Sansa remains silent. With deliberately slow motion, Margaery lets her hand creep down Sansa’s arms to take the gun from between her fingers. She takes a few deep breaths and raises her arms. One shot in the forehead, one shot in the heart, and one shot even lower in his potentially most vital organ. She runs her tongue across her bottom lip before handing the gun back.

Sansa watches her mentor with wide eyes and takes the gun back silently. Margaery isn’t sure why Sansa asked her for help practicing or what face she imagines on her target or anything at all really, but if she thought she was in love with the girl before, seeing her with a gun in hand and a cool, hateful look in her eyes sealed her fate. 

“Where did you learn?” Sansa whispers through soft, pink lips. Now that really makes Margaery smile.

“From my boyfriend,” she laughs, running fingers through long, brown hair. Sansa looks dejected for just a moment. The words aren’t what she wants to hear. Not at all. Margaery leans close and hooks a finger under the smaller girl’s chin.

“My _dead_ boyfriend.”


End file.
